


Take Comfort

by tiamo (rinne)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7557994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinne/pseuds/tiamo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She will always love him (though the way is ever-changing), but that does not mean she cannot learn to breathe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Frost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LucidSpike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucidSpike/gifts).



> “And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me. You will always be my friend.”  
> \- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

It’s cold outside the first time they meet off the battlefield, frost crunching under the heel of Chrom’s boots as he walks around aimlessly. He can’t say for sure where he’s going, since he left without a destination in mind, but he had the sense to don a coat and scarf before taking off into the wintery night for a change of pace. Gods, the prince can’t even say why he left in the first place– all he knows is that it’s cold outside and his nose is frozen and a terrible sense of dread is coiling in his stomach and slithering up his throat.

He steps through the brush and looks up, and that’s when all of his fear begins to burn bright and his breath catches as he sees Cordelia sat down in the snow in front of him, gaze locked upon the moon. It’s a third thing he can’t explain, why the sight of Cordelia alone on a snowy night scares him, but it does. It’s terrifying, somehow, because she looks so calm and and free of worry but her clothes are too light– they don’t even have sleeves– and her skin is flushed by the cold and _Chrom is terrified_. 

“Cordelia?” He asks; his voice is faint, and some of the syllables are lost to whispers. He expects her to jump at the sound of his voice as she always does, or at least expects her to tense in surprise, but she doesn’t. No, she doesn’t even react for a few moments, and he’s about to call her name again whens he slowly turns her eyes to him. For as all the times he’s wished she would meet his eyes without fear, when it finally happens, he hates it. He hates it because it’s strange– hates it because it’s wrong– hates it because it’s _empty_ , and in all the years he has known her, she has never looked at him like that.

“My prince,” she replies softly, her voice monotone and cracked at the edges, like her throat is dry and she refuses to drink. There’s a quaver to her voice– _she’s shivering_ , he realizes, looking closer– but her expression doesn’t even flicker, and his chest tightens, weight settling within him like a stone sinking to the river bottom. It would take so much strength to simply remain composed while so woefully underdressed, but even so, something about her seems pitifully weak–

And then he realizes why, and he sucks in a sharp breath. 

She looks defeated. 

“What are you doing here?” He wants to hear some strange, silly answer, hoping against hope that perhaps his comrade is more air headed than she appears– but Cordelia merely turns her gaze back to the moon.

“…I wonder…” And never before has strength terrified Chrom like this, because Cordelia sounds like a woman who isn’t counting on anyone else to save her.

But she’s not trying to save herself, either. 

“Why don’t you wonder in a tent, then?” He breathes, voice quiet. He’d meant to for his words to carry anger, but they come across gently (for which he’s glad when the redhead looks back at him). “It’s cold out here.”

“…I know,” she replies, voice softer now, and a chill creeps up the prince’s spine. _She knows_. She knows, and yet she remains. 

Chrom holds out his hand. 

“Give me your hand,” he commands; Cordelia’s eyes widen ever so slightly and he feels fear give way to hope. 

“Why…?” But even though she questions him, she places her hand in his, and his throat tightens when he can tell, even through his gloves, that her hands are utterly frozen.

“You don’t seem to want to take care of yourself right now,” he replies, pulling her up (his hand ghosts across her shoulder as she rights herself, and he wonders if, had they been friends, would he have pulled her close to him? But he lets it go). “So I’ll do it for you.” 

“I–” The emotion begins to return to her voice, and he feels his lips curl involuntarily into a smile. “I couldn’t possibly–”

“Cordelia.” 

She falls silent, and he leans in close, looking her in the eyes.

“I want to do this. It’s fine.” 

She stares for a long while, but he doesn’t feel so terrified anymore, and he simply smiles widely in response. Then, slowly, she leans forward into his chest, the shivers beginning to wrack her body as she slumps tiredly against him. When he puts his arms around her, she doesn’t even manage to object, and he lets her stay like that as long as she needs to.

She falls asleep like that, shivering in his arms, but Chrom isn’t scared anymore.


	2. Letters

It’s around the midnight hours when Chrom wanders into the barracks, half asleep and on his way to find something he’s already forgotten. For the most part, he’s just glad to stretch his legs a little bit, and even if he winds up just sitting uselessly in the barracks for a good few moments, he’ll be alright.

He hesitates at the entrance, though, when he hears a soft voice mumbling within. He can’t discern what it’s saying– the flames in the fireplace crackle just enough to drown it out– but it sounds familiar, and he almost snorts when he realizes why. Really, how many times in one week could he run into Cordelia alone in the dead of night? If anything, the prince was glad to see that she was warmer this time.

“Mind if I come in?” He calls out quietly, and Cordelia (to his great relief) snaps her head up, staring at him with wide, startled eyes for a moment. Finally, the tension leaves her shoulders, and she shakes her head.

“The barracks belong to everyone,” she replies. 

“That’s true,” he chuckles softly in response, taking the seat across from her; Cordelia says nothing, but returns to her writing with a sigh. Were she not so famously prolific a sigher, he would have worried he was inconveniencing her, but he chose to watch her quill move across the paper instead. _Beautiful_. The, er, penmanship, that was. There was a fluidity to her movements that was soothing to watch, but her quill soon stopped. 

She sighs again, lost in thought as though she were all alone, her fingertips twitching irritably where they rested. She murmurs words under her breath, and Chrom rests with his cheek in his hand.

“What are you writing?” He asks, and a dejected sigh reaches his ears. Three. He’s counting her sighs before he knows it.

“A letter,” she replies, not meeting his eyes; he considers leaving for a moment, but as she’d said, the barracks belonged to everyone. …And gods damn it all if he wasn’t allowed to be just a bit concerned after the last time he’d seen her. 

“You write? Uh, letters, I mean. To people that don’t live here.” Smooth. 

Four. “I… don’t. I have not written in a long time.” And he thinks of the stories he’s heard– of a family only half there, of comrades whose blood was spilled to let her live, and of someone dear who had died to save others– and he thinks he understands. They fall silent again.

The barracks are warm, the sound of the quill and the fire far too relaxing, and he narrowly avoids having his nose crack against the tabletop when another sigh saves him from the sleep he hadn’t even realized had been encroaching. 

Five. He glances at her sleepily; he’d never realized how soft her voice was simply by nature. Perhaps it was because he’d always thought her to be afraid of him– desperate to escape– but here she was, speaking to herself in a voice just soft as the one she spoke with to him. 

He lets himself listen.

Six. “Twice now,” she murmurs, “You have…” The quill never reaches the paper. 

Seven. She speaks of gratefulness, but never writes of it.

Eight. He’s beginning to get sleepy again, but she keeps stuttering over something, and it’s enough to keep him awake. 

Nine. Whoever she’s writing to, she admires, and he vaguely wonders who in the Shepherds has the power to inspire such awe within her. 

Ten. He misses what she says, and he lays his head upon the table. 

Eleven. “If not for you,” she says, but she never finishes the thought, and something about her voice sounds horribly lonely.

Twelve. And she doesn’t deserve to be alone; he stubbornly insists on keeping her company. 

Thirteen. She whispers something about how she ‘doesn’t deserve such kindness,’ and the prince, with his head resting in his arms and his cheek touching the tabletop, makes a vague sound of disagreement. 

“You deserve kindness,” he mumbles slowly, words stretched out by drowsiness, and Cordelia is silent for a while. 

_Fourteen_ sounds like a sigh of relief, and Chrom closes his eyes to the sound of a soft ‘thank you.’ 

He falls asleep somewhere between fifteen and eighteen, but at the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, he manages to blearily open his eyes. He’s warmer than before.

“Mnn…?” It’s supposed to be a question, but through the haze of sleep, he sees Cordelia standing in front of the fireplace. Something falls in– _the letter_?– but he’s too tired, and when he hears Cordelia softly tell him good night, he closes his eyes. 

He wakes up in the morning alone, the fire long dead and Cordelia nowhere to be found. There is, however, a blanket over his shoulders– one that isn’t blue or even peach, but red.

He smiles.


	3. Hot Chocolate

In the wintertime, the barracks are always empty at the later hours– those hours when saner people are sleeping (or attempting to, at least)– but that’s one of the things Cordelia likes. The barracks are far cozier than her tent; she keeps it clean, but too clean, and it does not feel like a home, or a place to live– not like the barracks do– and yet she is allowed to still be alone. 

She pushes the barracks door open, and that changes. 

Sitting alone a the table is a familiar mop of blue hair, and its owner lifts his head when the door creaks open, a warm smile on his face. He waves as if he has been expecting her (and perhaps he has been).

“Cordelia,” he greets, not a single hint of surprise in his voice. She has long since learned to fear when others would hope, and she swallows. 

“Did you need something of me, my prince?” She wonders if perhaps he is angry at her for something– or worse: had he been angry at her the entire time since that wintry night, but only waited until he knew she was as hale as ever? Nervously, she watches him, and he furrows his brows thoughtfully.

“No, not really.” Oh. That was… anticlimactic. Oh. She doesn’t know what to do now, or even what to say.

“Oh.” Very smart, Cordelia. She lingers in the doorway, and though they maintain eye contact for a moment longer, she flusters quickly and tears her gaze away. The silence is uncomfortable, but she has not the courage to sit by or across from him. Gods, it’s hopeless; she’s reminded again why she’s never had to question why it is she has no chance–

“Actually, I think that was a lie.” Chrom’s voice breaks through the silence, and Cordelia’s breath catches in her throat. Is he mad after all? She chances a glance at his face–

–and finds him smiling. He smiles gently, like he always does, and she remembers that for all her fears and sorrows–

“I wanted to spend some time with you.” 

–she loves him. 

Of course, that doesn’t change the fact that her face is burning a red that is brighter and hotter than fire, or that she can’t look him in the eyes, but it gives her reason to breathe easy again. 

_He wants to spend time with her_. He said so himself, and it feels like cause for celebration to her. 

“Would you like to get some hot chocolate with me?” She asks suddenly, laying a hand on the doorframe, and he blinks.

“What? I–” She can see him mull it over for a moment, but he soon shakes his head. “No, that’s alright.” 

“ _With_ me, I said.” She closes her eyes and breathes in, then continues, more quietly this time: “I’m not… running away this time.” That gives him something to think over; he stares at her in silence. 

“…Are you sure?” He asks, hesitant to give her an answer. “It’s late, and–” 

“My prince,” Cordelia interjects (but her voice is soft and her eyes crinkle ever so slightly at the corners), and she continues when he falls quiet. “I want to do this.” 

A pause; the meaning is not lost on him. He smiles at her. 

“…Alright, then.


	4. Loyalty

The medical tent is a strange place, Cordelia thinks, vacantly watching the sides of the tent. It would be so active and at times raucous following a battle, but then, without any warning at all, it would fall silent, only the more seriously wounded still remaining within. 

She glances down at her arm, covered from shoulder to fingertips in bandages, and supposes that she was one of them this time.

Despite the furrowed brows and slight pout Lissa had sent her way, the redhead had opted to sit up straight, dangling her legs over the side of the small bed, rather than reclining like the cleric had hoped she would. She doesn't push herself any further than that– even she herself can tell that she needs to rest now or else– but she refuses to lie on her back. There is no reason why she refuses, but she does. 

Then someone pushes past the tent flap; Cordelia looks over, and her breath catches in her throat. 

“My prince,” she greets with a dip of her head, but Chrom merely stands in the entrance, staring at her. He looks so damn _confused_ , expression caught between relief and something akin to sadness. He doesn't walk over to her immediately– they both know there was no way she can run away this time– but he seems to gather his bearings, and slowly, slowly, comes over to her side. 

“Thank you,” he begins, voice tight, and it’s only when he’s in arm’s reach that Cordelia looks away. 

“Think nothing of–”

“Why?” He interrupts her, and Cordelia’s right hand grips the side of the mattress; her left lies limp in her lap. She doesn’t say anything, but Chrom notices. 

“Why?” He asks again, taking a step closer, but the pegasus knight still refuses to meet his eyes. The prince only waits a few seconds before continuing on; this time, he refuses to just walk away with no answers. “I could have taken it if it had hit me, but you–” He stops there, reaching a hand out to her bandaged arm but not touching it. “You were already so injured…” The confusion and anger fade out of his voice, leaving it soft and quiet and sad. His hand moves from her arm to her hair– singed, though not as badly as it could have been– and he sighs. “I know you’re a knight and you’re sworn to serve my family, but you need to– you can’t–” He stops, searching for the words to express his thoughts, and that’s when Cordelia interrupts him.

“I am not loyal to you because of your family, my prince.”

He falls silent and gets a funny look on his face.

“Well, it is part,” she admits, regretting her sudden outburst, thinking (hoping) he’d nod understandingly, or perhaps accept the answer and leave, but he only screws his face up more. “But it isn’t the entire reason.” 

“…What is it, then?” 

She pauses, then looks him in the eyes (because he deserves to know she means what she’s about to say). 

“I believe in your kindness. In your strength. In you. You are… everyone’s hope, and I want to help keep that safe.” Her voice grows softer there, a warm and quiet whisper. “I am part of ‘everyone,’ too, after all.” 

Chrom draws away as she says that, but the tension has left his face, and he looks as if he can breathe comfortably for the first time since he walked in. 

“So it’s…”

“Because I care about you,” Cordelia finishes for him– and for the woman who is always running away from him, she is unusually bold, and it is Chrom’s turn to look away. 

“I see.” And that’s all he says, the weight of what Cordelia has said still far from through with sinking in, but he manages to smile at her anyways, a small, faint chuckle escaping him. “You still have to take better care of yourself, though.”

She manages to smile back. 

“I will, my prince.”


	5. Shaking

For the most part, Chrom had almost always gone to the barracks in the daytime, or perhaps sometimes staying until after the sun had set; spending time there in the midnight hours was something he had never done or even considered doing. Well, until a few days ago, that was. The first time he had gone there on a whim, he had run into Cordelia– and she hadn’t run away. Pleased, he had gone there a second night, and though she had invited him for a warm drink, he could tell that nervousness still plagued her, and she had left far earlier than she had the night before. It was disappointing, yes, but even he could tell something was changing.

So tonight, he made his way to the barracks, a red blanket tucked neatly under his arm. 

When he had asked Frederick where it was earlier, the knight had paused, brows furrowed with a deep concern. Strange. He looked a the prince for a long moment, then lifted his chin slightly, moving his hands to rest in the small of his back. 

“There is no need to trouble yourself with that, milord,” he had replied in that stiff monotone of his. “I had thought to return it to her before tomorrow’s training drills.” 

Chrom narrowed his eyes, squinting. Something was bothering Frederick; he hadn’t even mentioned the late hour, and– had he already known it was Cordelia’s? He hadn’t even mentioned her name!

“It’s fine,” he said, extending a hand, ushering the man to give the blanket to him. It was hard to miss the way Frederick’s jaw tightened, and Chrom wondered why this, of all things, was giving the knight so much discomfort. 

“There really is no need for–”

“Frederick.” It was rare for the prince to say the knight’s name so firmly, and yet even still, Frederick did not cede the blanket to him, a deep concern flickering in his eyes– and for once, Chrom did not think it was for him. 

“…Are you spending time with her, milord?” 

What a strange question. “That’s what I’m trying to do, yes. Although I’m not sure she likes me much.” 

Frederick sighed a deep, heavy at that, pinching the bridge of his nose in a display of such intense exasperation that Chrom had only seen directed at him a few times, but reluctantly fetched the blanket. Yet even as he held it, he did not hold it out to the prince. 

“Do take care.” The phrase was said slowly, oddly, but Chrom snatched the blanket away from him; he was already late enough as it was.

“I will, I will!”

And then he was gone.

• • •

He pushes the barracks door open quietly, quickly looking over the room. It’s as empty as he expected it to be, with only Cordelia seated within, but that’s just what he was hoping for. The floor creaks as he steps forward, Cordelia stiffens before swiftly looking to the wall opposite him, and he frowns. With how much they had interacted lately and how things had been going, he’d thought they were past the point where she tried to run away from him.

Then he hears her sniffle softly, and he freezes. 

Chrom makes his way over to her with quick, determined strides, his pace just shy of being too fast for walking, and stops behind her chair. For a moment, he reaches out to her, about to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but he quickly reconsiders. She’s still scared of him, anyways, but that’s not why he halted in his tracks. 

Her mug is still full, and he’s not sure why that’s so strange, but it is. 

He narrows his eyes, peering closer, and realizes that there is no steam. Skin has formed on the top, but it only floats in the center, and the cocoa ripples softly in the cup– _she’s shaking_. 

“Cordelia.” He whispers her name in a voice half lost to the air, but he knows that she has heard him, because she moves her face further away and her fingers turn white as her grip on the mug tightens. 

“Cordelia,” he says again. Nothing. “Cordelia.” 

She finally replies in a voice equally as audible as his (which is to say it is only barely so). 

“What is it, my prince?” There’s a slight stuffiness to her words and her throat sounds dryer than the deserts of Plegia, and Chrom bites his lip. Damn. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. 

“I have a blanket with me– well, I have your blanket, actually– and I’m… I’m going to put it over you. Is that okay?” 

She pauses, but it’s in the silence that Chrom realizes why it’s so cold: the fire had gone out long ago. Gods… How long had she been here? How long had she been crying? 

The pegasus knight finally nods, and he drapes it over her shoulders; she reaches up to take the corners and wrap them closer to her frame, but he catches one– the right one– and squeezes gently. She goes still, but doesn’t yank away, and it feels like another step forward. 

“I’m going to start a fire in the fireplace. I’ll have to stick around to watch it, though. Don’t want to, you know, burn down the barracks. I hope that’s alright.” 

She’s silent for a few moments longer before she gently pulls her hand away. “That’s fine.” 

And so he does just that, though for some ‘strange’ reason, he takes far too long to kindle the fire. It’s only coincidence, of course, that the flame comes to life once the sniffles stop and he hears the mug clack softly against the table. He takes a seat beside her this time, rather than across from her, and he realizes that she’s staring at her mug now. That’s still not his face, but at least she’s not staring in the opposite direction anymore.

“What happened?” His voice is soft and warm, but Cordelia tucks her chin closer to her chest all the same. He hears her breathe in many times, but those breaths never turn into words, and he leans in and reaches out, placing a warm hand over hers; the shaking slows to a stop. She breathes in again.

“I dozed off earlier,” she begins, and already, the prince is alarmed. _Cordelia_ dozed off? “I… had a nightmare.”

“Of?”

“Screams.” Whatever answer Chrom had expected, it wasn’t that. Perhaps he’d thought she’d had an anxiety dream of risen or enemy battles, but that one word is so much worse. She sounds too quiet, too distant, and it chills him to the bone. “Fire. Blood.” She sighs deeply there, and though he squeezes her hand without thinking, she doesn’t seem to notice. “I dreamed of screams and fire and blood, and I ran away again.” 

“They loved you,” he replies swiftly, and there is a truth to his voice that rings strong because _he’s experienced it_ , _too_. “They could have asked you to fight alongside them until the end, but they didn’t.” He leans in closer. “Because they loved you.” 

“I know,” she murmurs, and though she still doesn’t look at him, slowly, she leans against his shoulder. “I know. …Thank you.”

They don’t talk again until the fire dies, and only then to say goodbye. 

But it’s enough.


	6. Laughter

Cordelia drums her fingers against her mug; at first, it is a steady rhythm, metronomic, but it soon evolves into the skeleton of a song. _Hm hm hmm_. It’s usually enough for her to simply sit in the barracks and think, sometimes accompanied by a book, but today, she is restless. The book she had brought for company lies discarded upon the table, and while both mugs she brought are still warm, she can’t tell if they will be for much longer.

 _She brought two mugs_.

She buries her face in her arms, cheeks afire. For the past few days, she’d come to the barracks, only for Chrom to join her (or in one instance, he had seemed worried when she hadn’t been there), and it had lead her to do a most terrible thing: _hope_. She didn’t dare hope for too much, of course– she’d long since learned that doing so would only hurt her– but if she could be allowed to be so vain as to think he wanted to know her… well, that would be enough. 

So she had brought two mugs, hoping against hope that he would grace her with his presence for yet another night. She had even brought marshmallows after having seen the way he peered down at his cup (and had taken the liberty of putting a few in while the drink was still warm; she did so hope he liked them). 

With a slam and a clatter, the barracks door bursts open, swinging back after rebounding against the wall, and Cordelia jolts. With wide, startled eyes, she whirls around to face the newcomer and almost slams her knee against the table in the process.

“Sorry!” Chrom says (or yells, more like it), then focuses his gaze on Cordelia and almost visibly shrinks. “Sorry,” he says again, sheepishness coloring his voice. “I was talking to Frederick– I didn’t realize how late it had gotten–” Well, at least both of them are flustered; Cordelia shakes her head, feeling her cheeks warm up once more. 

“There is no need to apologize, my prince,” she replies, and though she decides to err on the side of acquaintanceship (rather than the friendship she so longs for), her voice is soft and warm. “I… wasn’t expecting company.” 

Hesitantly, she watches his face, and sees it scrunch up slightly; she can practically hear the awkward ‘ _oh_ ’ that he hasn’t voiced yet. 

“Oh,” he mumbles awkwardly, his hand gravitating to the back of his neck. The prince’s gaze floats to the side, but then stops abruptly, a small, pleased smile growing on his face. Cordelia follows his gaze to… that _damn_ mug. Instantly, she turns her face away, desperate to hide the blush she knows is there. 

“…I’d be okay with it.” His voice is softer than before, and she chances a glance at him– only to avert her gaze once more (though this time it’s because she can’t handle him and all his gentle smiles and kind words and the way she loves it all). He clears his throat. “If you started to expect company, I mean.” 

Cordelia is silent for a few moments, but slowly, she begins to push the mug forward towards him. If she thought that she deserved this fortune, this happiness, she would have gladly said yes, said ‘I would love to’, said ‘I look forward to it’–

But she doesn’t deserve it, so she simply moves the mug until it sits in front of the seat beside her. 

“I brought marshmallows,” she replies nonchalantly, then turns her head, meeting his eyes once more like it means something. “I can bring them again tomorrow, if you like them.”

And it does mean something, because she will always wait for him, but she would never even dream of making him promise his time to her. 

His eyes light up almost instantly, and when he grins– bright and shining and pure– she herself cannot help but smile. “Marshmallows?” The excitement twinkles in his voice in a manner not too unlike a child’s, and he takes quick steps to her side, the chair tilting just a bit as he seated himself. In a similar manner, he takes hold of the mug, tilting it just a fraction until the sight of the small treats greet him; he looks back to her with a grin. “I’d like that.” 

“Duly noted,” she nods, and in the few moments she struggles for some sort of better reply, silence envelops them all too quickly. Brave though she may be on the battlefield, her courage is quashed all too quickly here. 

They sit like that for a while. He sips, she sips; one of them opens their mouth, but by the time the other looks to them, it’s closed again. The want is there, but they’re too stuck in their ways and don’t know how to get out; it’s almost suffocating. 

“Um,” Chrom finally says, breaking the silence with all the eloquence of a startled duck, but Cordelia turns her head too quickly, and all she catches is the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows uncomfortably. 

“Yes?” She prompts him gently, but her voice is too gentle, too soft, and the stark contrast between their voices is enough to embarrass them both. 

“Yes! Um.” The prince feigns a cough, and the pegasus knight begins to feel even worse. By the gods, was her cowardice contagious? Her spirits begin to sink, but when she looks back to the apple of her eye, she sees that he’s still struggling to compose himself– he’s still trying. 

She smiles. 

“Um,” Cordelia repeats, but that short word is accentuated with a warm chuckle, and suddenly they both feel as though they can breathe again. 

“What do you call an owl that doesn’t sleep?” He grins suddenly, awkwardly, looking more like he’s trying to solve complex math problems while smiling than he does like he’s having a good time. “I– strange.” 

She blinks– and then she laughs. She tilts her head to the side, lets her eyes crinkle, feels the way the corners of her mouth tug ever upwards, and she _laughs_. It’s a free sound, unburdened by her usual nervousness, almost musical in nature. In the middle of it all, she misses the wide eyed stare it nets her, and the slight flush of Chrom’s cheeks as well, but right now, that doesn’t matter. All this time, she’d thought she had been trying, but if these were the lengths her prince was willing to go to, she clearly was far from trying hard enough. 

“It– it wasn’t that funny,” Chrom protests, but he’s smiling all the same (even if there’s still a confused quirk of his brows lingering upon his face); Cordelia tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, all fluid motions and grace, and lets her smile soften. _She likes him_. 

“It wasn’t,” she agrees, and her gaze softens. _She loves him_. “But I quite liked it all the same.” 

Embarrassed and pleased all at once, he doesn’t have a response to that.

“Now then!” She stretches her arms out in front of her, then casts a mischievous glance Chrom’s way – the first of its kind meant for him – and half smiles, half smirks. “My prince… Have you any idea what a wicked hen lays?” 

He fights to control his smile, but even his best efforts are in vain, and he grins at her. 

“I don’t. What is it?” 

She leans in closer, as if about to share a secret upon which many things rested–

“ _Deviled eggs_ ,” she whispers in a tone far too serious for her words, and Chrom, in a most ungainly manner, snorts and leans back, averting his gaze. Cordelia doesn’t move, still leaning close, a satisfied smirk on her face like the cat who had its share of both the cream and the canary. 

Chrom’s fate is sealed when he glances back at her, and he bursts into laughter not too unlike hers from before; the redhead’s smirk blooms into a soft, pleased smile. 

“It wasn’t that funny,” she says simply, and though Chrom raises a brow, his face and voice are full of mirth. 

“…It wasn’t,” he agrees, and his own smile warms up, “But I still liked it anyways.” 

They while away the night like that, and though her heart thumps loudly in her chest all the while, Cordelia still feels like she can breathe.


	7. Stars

He had caught her by the arm with a firm but gentle grasp as she made her way to the barracks, pulling her to the side and– after glancing once over his shoulder– stepping closer. 

“Frederick?” She says his name softly, questioningly, and he looks back to her with furrowed brows. 

“Cordelia…” He seems at a loss for words, and though she had been in the middle of going somewhere, she halts her plans for him; he deserves that much from her, at least. 

“What is it?” She asks him, voice growing even quieter than before. Even still, the knight looks as though the words are stuck in his throat, and, like he had done just moments earlier, she places her hand on his arm. “ _Frederick_ ,” the redhead repeats, voice gentle but resolute, “You can tell me.” 

His gaze flickers from her face to her hand, then back to her face, and he sighs. The severity in his expression and tone dissolves all too quickly, and the pegasus knight is struck by how… concerned he seems. 

“Are you all right?” 

Cordelia doesn’t know what to say for a few moments, eyes wide as she attempts to find any sort of sign that this was a jape– but try as she might, she can find none (and confusion aside, she knows Frederick too well for that). 

“I… I am.” Her brows furrow. “Why do you ask?”

It’s Frederick’s turn to furrow his brows, and he does so with a noticeable hesitance. “You have been speaking to Chrom as of late, have you not?” Cordelia sucks in a breath, but Frederick seems as though he’s too worried to even breathe. He’s too kind to state what he’s truly worried about outright, but Cordelia understands. She _understands_ , and her chest clenches, her grip on his arm tightening. Despite how much easier it has gotten to be in the prince’s presence, she’s still acutely aware of how everything she dreams of and wishes for will never be within reach. 

She breathes in. 

But she can still enjoy the way he smiles, can still relish hot cocoa at nighttime and terrible jokes, and she’s not alone– Frederick has already shown her that much, as have Sumia and Libra and all the people she has come to love in her time here.

She breathes out. 

“I think I am. Besides,” she pauses to flash him a meaningful smile– and it’s shaky, but it’s there– before continuing. “You’re here for me, are you not?” 

And when she’s blessed with Frederick’s very own smile in return, she knows it to be true. 

“You may expect nothing less,” he replies gently, then leans forward, voice soft. “Cordelia…” He places his hand over hers, squeezing it gently. “Just know I– we– are here for you.” 

Then he releases her hand and steps back, his gaze flickering to something behind them, and Cordelia turns around in time to hear her name called. 

“Cordelia!” Chrom calls out, hand raised in greeting, but he hesitates when he catches sight of Frederick behind her. “Oh.” Even his steps slow, and he soon halts in his tracks, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry to interrupt. I, uh, can wait.”

“We were just finishing up, milord,” Frederick replies, answering for Cordelia when she merely blinks at the man in shock. In that moment, he pulls the redhead close to him once more, whispering into her ear: “It doesn’t hurt to try.”

“Oh,” is her only reply, and he casts her a dry, reserved half-smile before pulling away once more, patting her shoulder lightly. 

“That will be all for now, Cordelia,” the great knight says, standing tall once more as he nods to his liege. “Good night.” And with that, he turns on his heel, disappearing into the camp before either of them can reply. 

They’re left in silence in the wake of Frederick’s abrupt departure, neither of them quite sure what to say to each other after that, and it’s only after too many seconds have passed that Cordelia clears her throat.

“Did you need something of me, my prince?” He had called out to her, after all; that in and of itself was a rare occurrence, albeit more common as of late, and she tilts her head slightly in confusion. His face is slightly screwed up, but he shakes his head and his expression clears.

“No, no, I didn’t need anything. I was just… wondering where you were.” He smiles sheepishly. “You weren’t at the barracks.”

Oh. Was he perhaps worried? That he would even think to worry over her was nice, but whatever for? “My apologies.” A dip of her head. “I was on my way there, but there was something Frederick had that he needed to discuss with me first.” 

“It’s fine,” Chrom replies, waving his hand dismissively. “Although… I was wondering if you were still planning to go there tonight.” His gaze flickers to the side awkwardly. “You don’t have to, of course; I was just curious.”

 _By the gods_ , _this kindness of his was both a blessing and a curse_. She breathes out softly; it is something akin to a laugh, but not quite, and it dies in her throat– and amidst it all, she can’t help but think that the stars are so lovely tonight. “I’m not sure.” She thinks she sees his expression fall there, if only slightly, but by the time she’s blinked again, he’s just nodding indifferently, absorbing the information. 

“I see.” He crosses his arms, weight shifting to one foot, and she’s glad to see he’s not about to take off; she needs all the time she can get to gather up her courage. 

Silence again. She breathes in; she breathes out. Just because she feels like she can breathe around him now doesn’t mean that breathing is easy. 

“My prince,” Cordelia begins, and already, her voice fails her, all breathy and lost to the sounds of nighttime. Perhaps he doesn't know what she said, but he knows _that_ she said, and he tilts his head forward, looking up towards her curiously. It is both a pain and a pleasure to know that he sees her, and though her chest constricts in a way that leaves her nigh breathless, she continues on. “I was merely thinking that the stars are lovely tonight. If I were to go stargaze for a while…” He raises his chin a little, looking closer, and the words die in her throat. _She loves him_. He’ll never love her. _He speaks to her now_. But he’ll never look at her, will he? 

But the stars are beautiful tonight.

She finds her courage again. “If I were to do that, would you like to accompany me?” 

Chrom doesn’t waste a moment, a smile lighting up his face. “That sounds nice.” 

They exchange small talk along the way– “Where do you want to go?” and “How much do you know about the stars?”– but when they reach the hill (a small, gently rolling thing), Cordelia silently appreciates the way awe sparkles in his expression, his mouth hanging slightly open. He’s all too eager to lie down in the grass, and when she lies down beside him, she turns her head. He’s all midnight blues and bright smiles, melting into the backdrop of the night and standing out all at once. He’s like a star, she thinks, but then shakes her head. He’s not one star, or two, or three, but so much more than that. He is the moon and the sun and the night sky in its entirety. 

He is light. He is _hope_. 

And it’s no wonder he’s a star to her, because though he’s so beautiful and so well loved, it hurts to be near him. 

Her smile falters. It does hurt, even still. Perhaps not as much now– he is kind like that, healing the pain he does not even know is there–but she still knows better than to hope, and that is a sting that will never fully fade. 

“Can you name any of the stars?” 

She forgets to breathe for a second, worried that he’ll look over and see the way that she looks at him, but he’s too enamored with the glittering sky to do so. 

“A few. Would you rather I name the individual stars or the constellations?” 

“Either is fine.”

And so she points out the constellations to him, painting dragons and heroes of old into the sky, his breathless coos and wowed hums grow fewer and farther between, until eventually, he isn’t replying at all. When she looks over, his eyes are closed; she chuckles and sits up. She can’t very well leave him to sleep the night away on a hill, but if he’s tired enough to fall asleep in the open air, she can let him have a decent nap, at least. 

So she hums to herself at first, but the more she remembers just how much she loves songs, loves music as a whole, the more the ghosts of melodies fill out into full tunes, soft melodies escaping her lips. 

And she sings songs of love and of her star, because it only feels right, the way they are right now.

“And I will make sure to keep my distance,” she half sings, half breathes, voice gentle and words slow, a song turned into a lullaby. “Say ‘I love you’ when you’re not listening.” Her gaze drifts upwards. I love you, I love you, I love you. “And how long can we keep this up, up, up?” 

The rest of the song fades from her lips. She did not sing it in its entirety, but she’s strangely content with how it is now. …But all good moments must come to an end, and though she appreciates the way the prince looks while asleep under the stars, she does not want him to catch a cold, either. 

“Chrom,” she whispers softly, tapping his shoulder with a featherlight touch, “It’s time to get up.” 

And he cracks an eye open more swiftly than she expected, a small smirk playing upon his face. 

“Call me that more often,” he murmurs, and when she reels back, cheeks afire, he curls into a sitting position, stretching as though he hasn’t just sent her heart all aflutter. 

Her cheeks burn; he looks back at her.

“…Okay.”

He walks her to her tent, a gentleman despite his goofishness, and when they part ways, he smiles at her gently. 

“Good night, Cordelia,” he says, lingering just a moment longer, waiting for her to return the gesture in kind. 

And she does. 

“Good night, Chrom,” she whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song referenced: [ Distance ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ROqTa1mn_qc) by Christina Perri


	8. Lullaby

Cordelia thumbs through the book slowly, the well-worn pages dragging a hum from her lips as she searches the words in front of her. It is a well-loved book that rests in her hands, the corners of the cover fraying and grayed, but loved so much and so immediately that the pages themselves remain fully intact. Mugs of hot chocolate sit near her hands, the outsides warm but the drink itself no longer steaming, and Chrom’s marshmallows have long melted into the cocoa itself.

Speaking aloud is never part of her reading habit, so long as the book is not this one. But this one… _this_ one… She runs her fingertip over a line of text, the line of her mouth curving delicately. She did so love to read this one aloud, soft whispers of beautiful words that resonate with her heart filling the air around her. 

But the door opens before she has the chance to speak a single sentence, and she closes the book with a light sigh. Perhaps another time, then. 

She turns her gaze to the man in the door, shocked to find that Chrom’s eyes seem to sag with the weight of exhaustion. Though he appears absolutely haggard, he casts her a weary smile, and she returns it in kind. 

“What are you doing here, my–” She catches herself, biting back her habits and her shields, and the prince raises his chin curiously. “…Chrom,” the redhead finishes, and though her chest flutters and aches, the way his smile softens and warms is worth it all. It is a smile just for her, and she burns it into her memory. 

“You were expecting me.” His answer is simple and quiet, enough so that even the crackling of the small fire almost swallows it up (but she still hears it, and that’s what matters). He sits in the seat beside her, fingers curling around the drink that she’d prepared for him. 

She shakes her head. “I was… only hoping. There were no expectations.” He gives her a sidelong look, but she meets it with no hesitation– only a small smile and a certain weariness of her own. 

(Because to expect is to hold him to it, and she knows he is destined for great things, that king of kings; she dares not hold him back) 

“Hm.” He raises the mug to his lips and drinks; she knows he understands. 

They while away the time in silence– her with her book open once more (“You read aloud?” “Only this book. I’ll stop now.” A smile. “It’s fine.”) and him with his drink (“You don’t have to always make this for me, you know.” “But you like it, do you not?” “…I do.” A smile of her own. “Then it’s fine.”)– until he’s finished his drink and she has hers. 

“Are you returning to your tent?” She closes her book again (the tales of roses and princes from faraway stars will still be there for her when she returns to her own), but Chrom shakes his head, brows crinkling stubbornly. Cordelia’s, in turn, furrow as well. “You’re very clearly tired, though.” Concerned though she may be, she is glad to see he, for the moment, is still at her side. 

As if in response, he folds his arms upon the table and then rests his head on them; she laughs a silent, airy laugh. 

“You sing.” It is a simple statement, nothing more, but she remembers the look of soft smirks upon earthbound stars against the midnight sky, and her cheeks warm. 

“I do.” And in spite of the lightness of her chest and the pink tinge to her cheeks, she lets slip a teasing remark: “I would be quite content to sing you a lullaby.” 

He smiles at her from behind folded arms and under sapphire locks, and she almost expects a small jape in turn.

“I’d like that.” 

He sounds so incredibly earnest that she falls silent. 

“You performed at my birthday party, once,” he continues. “With the harp. It was nice.” 

Pink turns to crimson, and she clears her throat, smoothing out her uniform nervously. “Alright, then,” she whispers, and through his drowsiness, Chrom’s face lights up. “Just for you… Chrom.” 

She smooths out her uniform once more, straightening up, and hopes that her voice will not fail her now that her heart beats fast and he’s left her so nervous and yet so happy that she feels absolutely breathless. 

And she sings for him. 

She sings for him yet again, because she is still a coward, but behind her slowed-down melodies and soft-sung words, she can love and worry for him. 

He is silent all the way through, but the time she reaches the last verse, she thinks he really has fallen asleep; his eyes are closed and his face is peaceful, and though he cannot hear, the sound of her smile slips into her voice.

“Isn’t the tomorrow that you’re shouldering painful? Can’t the today you’re shouldering be saved anymore?” A breath. “And yet if you’re carrying kindness on your shoulders… can you still feel love?” 

There is no twinkling of strings alongside her to let her words fade away like they should, so she hums gently, lips curving as she gently moves the prince’s hair from in front of his eyes. 

“You’re a very kind man, Chrom,” she whispers to his sleeping face (courage is not yet her friend). “Good night.” 

And as she closes the barracks door behind her, he smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song referenced: [それがあなたの幸せとしても](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YxPSRsDq4V4) by **Heavenz-P** { [NND Userpage](http://www.nicovideo.jp/user/76265) ; [MyList](http://www.nicovideo.jp/mylist/12119625) }  
>  linked cover by **KK** { [NND Userpage](http://www.nicovideo.jp/user/3960446) ; [MyList](http://www.nicovideo.jp/mylist/13346918) ; [YouTube Channel](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC8xGDVql5edyFd1GD5m3gbw) }   
>  ✱lyrics referenced are an [english fan translation](https://kazabana.wordpress.com/2013/09/20/sore-ga-anata-no-shiawase-toshitemo-even-if-that-is-your-happiness-megurine-luka/) ; one line referencing kanji was excluded for storytelling's sake


	9. Glow

She holds the mouth of the bottle between her fingertips. It is a small thing, no taller than her palm is wide, and she handles it with a ginger touch. The cork lays on the table, unused, and though nothing separates the inside of the glass walls from the outside air, the little bug within seems more than content to stay where it is. 

Cordelia sighs. 

“Perhaps we’re alike, you and I,” she murmurs to the firefly, turning the container just slightly. Her earlier words ring inside her head, and as if on cue, her heart grows heavy in her chest.

‘ _No matter how much it pains me_ , _I don’t want this love to go away_.’ 

And they rang no less true now than they had in the daytime, though there is no offered kindness now to distract her from the ache in her heart. No matter how clearly she can see the world outside her cage, no matter how well she knows the way to escape this hopeless love that constrains her, she makes no move to free herself.

She peers down the bottle’s mouth, scrutinizing the little bug. “Why don’t you leave? The world is much bigger outside.”

The firefly simply lights up, but its glow lost in the firelight cast across the room.

She sighs again. 

It is only when the door creaks open that she puts distance between herself and the bottle, swiveling her head around to greet the man she knows is there.

“Chrom,” she greets him, and though he says nothing, she knows the lopsided grin he shoots her has the same meaning. He crosses the room with long strides, taking his usual seat beside her (and that she can say he has a usual seat is cause for her cheeks to warm oh so slightly). 

“What have you got there?” The prince asks, nodding his head towards the bottle held betwixt her fingertips. As if on cue, the firefly glows briefly, and the remnants of Chrom’s earlier grin curl into bemused, somewhat puzzled smile. “They’re out already? I thought it was still too early in the year for that.” 

The pegasus knight shakes her head, tilting the bottom of the bottle towards him. “It’s _just_ late enough, though there aren’t– heh–” Chrom holds the bottle close to his face, head thrust forward and the glass resting mere centimeters from his nose; his brows are barely furrowed and his gaze is inquisitive, and a chuckle pries itself from Cordelia’s lips. _What an adorable man_ … She clears her throat. “There aren’t many. More will come in the next few weeks.” And she sighs there, a deep sigh that slips out of her without her noticing. “It’s a shame…” 

Chrom draws away from the bottle at that, curious eyes now searching her expression instead. “Did you… want to catch some?” 

“I–” She feels her face heat up. She had, but… was it silly to want to do so? The worry kills her reply in her throat, but as she falls silent, Chrom seems to understand.

His eyes soften. “Come on, let’s go.” 

And when he tugs on her hand gently, she complies, swept away by him once more.

• • •

It is only when they reach the grassy fields that he releases her hand, instead holding the glass bottle (had he held onto it this entire time? She hadn’t noticed) in front of her. Right before her eyes, he adjusts the way he holds it– his hands grasp the bottle by the base and tilt it slightly forward–

And just like that, the firefly begins to crawl forward before floating into the night sky.

Free. 

She watches it for the few moments it glows, but when it flickers back to darkness, she turns her attention towards the prince– just barely visible in the moonlight– and blinks at him. There is something inexplicable about the way he looks at her in that moment; his eyes are warm, but there is a slight and sorrowful quirk of his brows that render the ghost of a smile on his face even more poignant. 

“Sometimes you just need a push,” he murmurs, and it is in that moment Cordelia realizes why he had taken her here, why he had inspected the jar so closely, and why the barracks door had opened more quietly than it ever had before. 

He holds the jar out to her, and when she reaches for it, he takes hold of her hands. 

“You don’t have to stay like that forever.” And while it is clear that he knows nothing of what he’s speaking about, it is also clear that he cares– he cares so fiercely, wants nothing but the best for her– for all the Shepherds– and it _hurts_ , because it is that same kindness that made her fall when all this first began. 

Yet when he lets her go, Cordelia still ponders briefly whether or not it is truly as he says. 

But she is the pegasus rider, and not the pegasus itself; when the sun has dimmed and she is surrounded by stars and midnight blues and she crawls free from the love that has held her captive so long… 

So long as he is there to light up her night sky, she will fall all over again. 

“Now, shall we catch some fireflies?” And when Chrom smiles at her with a light that would shame the very stars they stand beneath, giving her hope that so easily pierces through all her heartache and despair–

“We shall,” she smiles.

–Cordelia supposes she would fall as many times as he asked.


	10. Novel

Cordelia holds the book carefully in her hands, and though she is a quick reader, she takes her time reading the words aloud. She savors everything about them: their meter, their oddity, their beauty. It is so rare for her to have time to herself to read nowadays, and though she doesn’t mind, it kills her to leave a book unfinished. 

“‘I cannot play with you,’ the fox said.” She sighs there, but it is a quiet sigh, almost wistful in nature. “‘I am not tamed.’” 

It is then that door creaks open quietly, but when she reaches for her bookmark, the sound of footsteps and a warm voice give her pause. 

“You like that one a lot, don’t you?” Chrom asks, and the pegasus knight smiles just a bit sheepishly. “You were reading it a couple nights ago, too.” 

“I do,” she replies, finally taking hold of the pressed flower (a gift from Sumia many years ago) meant to mark her page. “It’s my favorite.” And as she’s about to slide it in between the pages, she finds a larger hand grasping hers (gently, an almost nonexistent touch) that prevents her from doing so. 

“Would it be alright if I asked you to keep reading? You have me curious.” His voice is hesitant, as though he is afraid she will spurn his request and think him a fool; it makes the relief on his face when the line of her mouth curves into a gentle smile all the more rewarding. 

“It would be my pleasure.” 

So she reads to him, and he watches her with his cheek in one hand and an attentive gaze trained so solely on her that her cheeks flush. She speaks of little boys who cannot forget the flowers, and of foxes who wish to love the wind in the wheat and the color of gold. 

“‘What must I do, to tame you?’ asked the little prince.” Chrom raises his head, and Cordelia does not miss the thoughtful, intrigued way he tilts his head forward. It is as if he is soaking in the words she says with everything he has, and even his whole body eventually leans forward. 

She continues.

“‘You must be very patient,’ replied the fox.” The redhead wonders why she can see the prince nod there, as though he understands. “‘First you will sit down at a little distance from me– like that– in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day…’” 

It is then that he reclines once more, and the movement is enough to draw her eyes from the novel to his face, and– 

“Why are you smiling?” she asks, the faintest traces of suspicion and confusion coloring her voice, but his smile merely widens.

“I just understood something,” Chrom replies, returning his cheek to his hand, gaze ever fixated on her.

“What is it?” 

There is something fond and gently warm about his voice when he speaks again. 

“I’ll tell you when you finish.” 

There is a long pause before she reads again, a wariness making itself known in the way she scrutinizes him, but the prince says nothing because it is her turn to speak. That silence of his nets him a quiet sigh, but they both know she is not truly frustrated, and her soft voice fills the room once more. He appears pleased by the contents of the chapter that she reveals to him, seeming almost tickled by the antics of the fox and the confusion of the prince. 

It is only as the chapter nears its end that his expression begins to fall, as if he is tasting the melancholy that Cordelia both loves and regrets for the first time. 

“‘Men have forgotten this truth,’ said the fox. ‘But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose…’” 

She pauses there, casting a sidelong glance towards her now somber-faced companion; she cannot read his expression. 

“‘I am responsible for my rose,’ the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.’” 

It is only when she slides the bookmark in and closes the book gently that Chrom sits back up, a concerned look on his face. 

“Is that the end?” he asks, seeming almost distressed; Cordelia shakes her head. 

“Only the end of that chapter,” she responds, before sitting up straight herself, rolling her shoulders slightly to rid them of the stiffness that had gathered. “Now then, Chrom… What was it that you understood earlier?” The pegasus knight tilts her head slightly at that, and though she does not smile, her eyes are warm and her breath stutters in the ghost of a laugh. “I simply _must_ know.” 

There is something tender about the way he pauses to meet her eyes, like he has learned the ways of subtlety and unspoken things that she had once thought he never could.

“You remind me of the fox.” 

Her breath catches in her throat, but Chrom does not look away, not even for a moment. Her chest aches, years of learned fear gripping it relentlessly, but the prince does not falter in the face of that, either. 

“…You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed,” she warns him, but her voice carries no threat– only apprehension and a hope that refuses to truly die, no matter how much or how often she wills it otherwise. 

“I am responsible for my rose,” he replies in kind, and his gaze softens; again, he grips her hand lightly, and her stomach flips. “…And I am responsible for my fox, as well.” 

She is silent, then, because she remembers that in the end, the prince chooses to return to his rose, and the fox is only left with the color of gold and the sound of the wind in the wheat; he is silent, too, because he knows a fox can only be tamed if it is willing to be. 

She knows that, in the end, he, too, will leave– but like the fox, she is willing to be tamed if she is left with the color of nighttime and the glimmer of stars in the sky. 

“You are,” she finally breathes; his smile widens, and he squeezes her hand once before letting go. 

“I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the book that cordelia reads to chrom / book referenced: **The Little Prince** by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry


	11. Bloom

The sun lies high in the sky as Cordelia paces throughout the camp, unsure of what to do. The very last traces of Winter had faded a couple weeks ago, and now that the clouds were out and the sun was shining, she had attended to her chores with the utmost zeal in hopes of finishing in time to enjoy the springtime air. 

Unfortunately, she had finished too early, and without any sort of plan for her free time, to boot. At least that meant she had the time to mull it over, but the obviousness of her oversight causes her brows to furrow in dissatisfaction. Perhaps she could retrieve a book from her tent to read in the sunlight? No, no, it had taken her all too long to finish the last book. Had she planned ahead like a sensible person, she could have gone on a picnic, but--

It is then that she hears a soft ‘oh!’ to her left, and she turns, only to find that Lissa has appeared at her side. 

“Good evening, Lissa,” the pegasus knight greets, and the little princess grins widely at her in response. 

“Evening, Cordelia!” She spins on her heel to face and lean towards her, dress fluttering freely around her legs (its usual iron skeleton curiously absent). “Say... Are you free right now?” Her hands clasp behind her back in what every single Shepherd has come to learn as a sign that _Lissa is plotting something_ ; Cordelia lightly bites her lip. 

“I am, actually,” she finally concedes, and Lissa’s face lights up in a manner not all too different from her brother (though Chrom is more like the sun peeking through the clouds at sunset; Lissa is like the midday sun, bright and unhindered). That in and of itself is enough for Cordelia to worry over whatever scheme the cleric is brewing, but after some (much) internal debate, she opts to give her the benefit of the doubt. 

“That’s great!” Her pigtails bob as she bounces back up, her hands swinging back to her sides. “I have an idea for what you can do!” 

“And what is that?” 

Lissa’s grin takes on a mischievous edge, and the pegasus knight pales slightly. “That’s a secret. C’mon, follow me!” 

So it is with a resigned sigh that Cordelia trudges after the cleric out of the camp and through the grass, growing more and more befuddled the further she is lead from camp. 

“Hey!” The blonde girl calls out before anyone comes into sight, the surrounding trees seeming to be her only audience. “I brought you that thing I was talking about!”

“ _Thing_?” Cordelia echoes softly, and Lissa quickly turns her head, a finger held up to her lips as she hisses a quiet ‘shh!’ before whirling back around. Her gaze is directed to the branches of a nearby maple, and when she follows it, she sees nothing at first. 

“Welcome ba--” Chrom’s voice cuts off as soon as he drops into the lower branches, stunned into silence (and judging by the way Lissa looks between their faces and hides her giggles, her expression is equally as stunned). It’s only when his grip begins to slip and he very nearly lurches forward that the prince regains his senses, and he and the pegasus knight both cast Lissa bewildered glances--

To which she simply sticks her hands behind her back and blatantly throws a wink in her brother’s direction. 

“Bye!” And just like that, she spins on her heel once more and takes off. In her wake, the pair gape in the direction she vanished, but inevitably, they look to each other, and--

“ _Pff_ \--”

They laugh.

It is an awkward but amused laughter, and they begin to move towards each other at the same moment; he drops from the tree with ease (perhaps he was a playful child?), and she meets him in the shade. 

“What was that about?” she asks, and though she feels butterflies flutter in her stomach, it is a warm feeling, the fear she has known for so long curiously absent. Chrom’s fingers sheepishly reach for the back of his neck, entangling themselves in the ends of his hair, but he beams at her all the same. 

“She said she’d bring me something that would cheer me up,” he replies, and his gaze darts to the side just in time to miss the way Cordelia’s cheeks flare up. “Of course, I didn’t think that she’d bring me a person...” He moves his gaze just in time to miss her blush yet again, and it fades from her cheeks just as one of embarrassment takes over his. “Are you free right now? I hope she didn’t drag you off in the middle of your chores. She’s a force to be reckoned with when she’s determined...” 

Cordelia waves her hand dismissively. “Hardly. I finished my chores early.” And though her words her words are cordial, almost stiff, her expression is too warm to interpret her mood as anything but good. “This weather is so lovely, after all.”

That earns her both a nod of agreement and a nod towards the tree in one fluid motion, and the prince steps to the side. “If you’re free, then... Care to join me?”

“It would be my pleasure,” she smiles in response, and when he takes a step forward, she follows before continuing. “Though if I may ask... You said Lissa did this to cheer you up?” 

“Oh.” She sees his hand twitch at his side, as if he has just stifled the urge to return it to his nape. “I just-- I--” He meets her eyes there, and her concerned gaze pries from him a deep, tired sigh. “I’m... tired. That’s all.” 

She does not believe him for a moment, but she merely smiles at him; his brows upturn gratefully as he accepts her kindness. It takes only one or two steps more for them to stand within arm’s reach of the tree trunk, and Chrom seats himself on the ground, leaning against it.

“Here,” he says, patting the ground beside him. Though it makes her nervous to sit so close to him, she does so without hesitance, and her courage earns her a brief, pleased curve of his lips. 

“I had almost forgotten what you look like in the daylight,” he laughs softly, and the redhead chuckles as well. 

“The daytime is always so busy,” she remarks, and they both sigh at that, knowing it to be all too true. 

They don’t have anything else to say after that, but the weather is warm, as are their hearts, and there is nothing that needs saying. 

“This is... nice,” Cordelia murmurs eventually, feeling her eyelids droop. There is no more fear to keep her nerves electric, and he has always had such a kind, comforting presence, and it is _warm_ \-- 

“It is,” Chrom agrees, but blinks when he looks over. “You have a flower in your hair, and--” He reaches over, fingers brushing lightly against her crimson locks. “--there, I got it-- Cordelia?” 

But her head leans on his shoulder now, her eyes closed and breathing soft, and she dreams of princes and foxes and roses all together and enjoys his warmth (and he, despite how he flusters, enjoys hers).

She wakes to her shoulder being shaken, a gentle touch.

“You were the one who fell asleep this time,” Chrom greets her when her eyes flutter open, half a breath, half a chuckle. 

“Oh?” She blinks her eyes a few times. “I’m terribly sorry...” 

“Don’t be,” he says, and he offers her his hand; she takes it easily. “Come on, let’s go.”

They walk together back to camp (and she cannot be sure if it is an illusion or the warm glow of sunset, but his face seems oddly flush).


	12. Silver

The vulneraries weigh heavy in Cordelia’s arms as she hefts up the bag higher, letting it rest more comfortably to the side. It is far too tempting to glance around the stalls that sell the nicer, prettier things, but she looks straight ahead and marches on. Perhaps if she finds herself with free time again, she’ll let herself indulge, but this trip is solely for restocking on necessities. 

It is the subtle gleam of silver in the corner of her eyes that changes that, and her eyes flicker towards it before she can stop herself. Someone vaguely mutters an apology when her sudden stop causes them to bump into her shoulder, but she manages to keep the vulneraries all in one place. She sighs. Well, if that sparkling thing had caused her to stop, she supposes she could cede her attention to it for a small while. 

The pegasus knight nears the stall hesitantly, and the vendor grins toothily in response, gesturing grandly towards necklaces with giant blue stones and pearly necklaces and charming wooden boxes, but Cordelia shakes her head at all of them.

“Could you tell me about that one?” She asks, pointing her finger towards the glittering thing that had caught her attention earlier. That gives the shopkeep pause, but he soon smirks at her, seeming all too pleased.

“You have a discerning eye,” he comments, then holds it up for her to see: a silver bracelet in one hand, and a silver necklace in the other, both with simple chain and a small, understated star charm, and there’s just something that strikes her about it. Whatever the shopkeep is prattling on about, she doesn’t hear it-- she’s too busy thinking about midnight songs and princes that were supposed to be asleep. 

All of the sudden, the shopkeep pauses mid-ramble, his lips curling into a smirk, and it is only in the absence of sound that Cordelia finally looks to him. 

“In one ear and out the other. It’s something special to you, isn’t it?” There’s a bemusement in his voice, but the pretense is gone. In response, though, the redhead merely purses her lips, looking away, and he laughs. “I’ll cut you a deal, then: if you buy one of them, I won’t ask you to buy the other.” 

That gets her attention, and her eyes dart back to him-- but this time, she finds herself smirking faintly back at him in kind. 

“That does sound like a deal, doesn’t it?” And the man grins at that, holding the two items even closer. 

“Pick your poison.” 

She remembers starry skies and fireflies, and she heaves a sigh once more. 

“This one,” she says, lifting the bracelet from his hand before setting it back down. The vendor nods, putting the necklace back in its spot, and he packs it into a small box while she fishes out his payment. 

“Thank you, come again!” He grins when she scoops the box into her arms as well, and he casts her a wink. 

“Maybe,” she replies lightly, playfully, and winks back. 

The embarrassment only truly sets in when she returns to camp, stowing the box away in her tent as she sets about replenishing everyone’s medical stocks--

And when Chrom smiles at her in passing, her cheeks grow all the more red.

• • •

She is peeking at the box, resting on the tabletop and held gently between her hands, when the barracks door opens. Instinctively, she folds her hands over it, turning her head to greet her new company. The words die in her throat without ever being uttered, though, as the prince holds up a thin, rectangular box for her to see, an excited (if not somewhat bashful) smile spreading across his features.

“Hey, there,” he greets her, sliding the box onto the table in front of her as he takes his seat. “I got something for you today. I saw it in town, and it reminded me of... Well, just open it.” 

But she simply stares at it for a long while, her cheeks growing warmer and warmer by the second, before she finally moves her hands to uncover the box she had been hiding. 

“I... I did, too,” she murmurs, pushing the gift forward with the tip of her index finger, almost as if she is so flustered that even touching the stupid thing makes her burn. 

“Oh.” And finally, Chrom joins her in the awkward embarrassment, taking the box into his hands and scrutinizing it with the gaze of a man avoiding eye contact. It doesn’t last for long, and within seconds, he has turned a bemused, toothy grin towards her. “You first.” 

So she opens it, slowly, wondering what possibly could have spurred the prince to think of her-- and she covers her mouth when she sees it.

“Oh--!” She shuts it almost immediately, snapping her head up to meet Chrom’s (rather confused) gaze. “Open-- open yours!” 

After a moment, he shrugs and lifts the lid of her gift in a similarly trepidatious manner, realization lighting up his eyes just as Cordelia finally manages to hold up the present that he’d given her. 

“Oh,” he echoes, glancing from the bracelet in the box to the gift held in her hands. “The shopkeeper told me he’d sold the other half of the set today, but--” 

And he holds up the star twinkling on a short chain just as Cordelia holds up hers, shining on the chain of a necklace, and he chuckles in disbelief.

“--I hadn’t expected that you were the one who bought it.” He tilts his head there, amazement and surprised laughter weighing his head down. “Can I take that to mean you’ll like it?”

But Cordelia is silent, holding the small silver star in front of her. To think that he would have ever gotten her something... She pools the small chain within her palm. 

“Yes,” the pegasus knight replies, “I love it.” She pulls it up to her neck and clasps it at the nape; Chrom tries similarly to fix the bracelet around his wrist, but after three or four clumsy and failed attempts, he holds it up to her with a sheepish grin and upturned brows and a silent plea for help. She chuckles softly, but consents. 

Her fingertips brush against his bare wrists (his glove laying discarded upon the table), and he watches silently as she draws the clasp and chain close. 

“We match,” he comments as she finally releases him, quietly marveling at he bracelet as if he is only realizing this just now. 

“We do,” Cordelia affirms; then, more quietly: “I hope it’s alright. I know you’re not much of one for jewelry, but I saw it, and I just--” 

“It’s alright.” Chrom interrupts, a kind smile on his face. “Me, too.”

 _The stars made you think of me as well_ , she realizes, and she cannot tell if it is love or lonesomeness that seizes her heart there. 

The night passes in friendly conversation and pleased, surreptitious glances from one to the small star that adorns the other. Perhaps she will never see him wear the bracelet again, Cordelia muses, but at least she has seen the content way his eyes sparkled this once; they sparkle even as he sees her to her tent, his eyes landing upon the star at her throat warmly as he bid her good night. 

(It is with great pleasure, then, that she notices a flash of silver at his wrist the next morning.)


	13. Flower

The sun beats harshly upon Cordelia’s back as she finishes setting things around her in their proper places, and she straightens up with a sigh, one hand at her waist and the other wiping the sweat from her brow. Her armor lies elsewhere, abandoned for the duration of the midday hours– it was simply too hot right now, and she was in the safety of camp, besides. 

When things are no longer out of place, she trudges off to the mess tent, eager to rest in its shade. A familiar mop of flaxen hair comes into sight as she draws nearer, its owner glancing around, oddly fidgety. 

“Sumia!” The redhead calls out, and her friend’s head snaps towards her as she waves. Before she even has a chance to move closer, the brunette reaches out and takes hold of her arm. 

“Cordelia!” The pegasus knight says her name in kind, and her brows furrow in a way that the redhead has come to know is utter stubbornness. “You’re taking the rest of the day off!”

Cordelia falls silent for a moment, then dubiously cocks a brow. “Come again?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest. “I took a break the other day, Sumia. I’m fine.” 

But her friend just shakes her head and lifts a basket from the ground. “Nope! You’re not fine.” Her expression falls slightly, and whatever retort had sat on the tip of Cordelia’s tongue dies instantly. “I’m worried about you, you know. You look absolutely exhausted…” 

She certainly doesn’t feel that way– perhaps a bit tired, yes, but ‘exhausted’ was a bit much– but Sumia foists the basket upon her before she can compose her rebuttal; Cordelia sighs. 

“You’re certain you can’t just give this to someone else?”

“Absolutely not! I made all your favorite foods!” 

Cordelia raises her brow once more, and Sumia wrings her hands together. 

“Well, the baked stuff, anyways. Stahl made everything else.” 

She chokes. “Stahl’s in on this, too?” When Sumia nods, she shifts the weight of the basket in her arms and pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “I still have chores to do, you know.” 

“Oh, I know!” And the bright, stubborn smile returns to her friend’s face all too quickly. “Libra’s going to help us cover all that.” 

_A third person_? She makes a silent note to thank the others later. 

“And I have no choice in the matter?” Cordelia asks one final time; she would be irritated at her schedule being disrupted like this if she didn’t know that they did this purely out of concern for her. 

“Nope!”

And so it is with great pleasure on Sumia’s part that Cordelia wanders away from camp, picnic basket in hand.

• • •

She picks a spot in the shade of a tree for her picnic, setting the basket down carefully before sitting down herself. When she peers into the basket, all manners of food greet her, and she’s glad to see that someone (perhaps Stahl) remembered to pack refreshments for this forced picnic of hers. Curiously, though, a pair of flowers– common meadow flowers, as far as she can tell– rest on top of all else. It’s Sumia’s doing for sure, and though she doesn’t believe in flower fortunes, Cordelia laughs softly; she doesn’t see the harm in humoring her at least slightly. It has been too long since she last indulged the child in her, anyhow.

“He loves me, he loves me not–”

But that’s as far as she gets before something steps into the rightmost side of her field of vision, and she snaps her head up in a panic. What greets her is a puzzled, hesitant grin, but as friendly as it is, the sudden company is enough to make Cordelia’s heart jump into her throat.

“Chrom!” She half breathes, half yells, the strain of surprise cracking her voice, and the prince throws up his hands apologetically. “I– you– what are you doing here?”

“Stahl sent me after you,” he explains. “Said he gave you something I needed to see…?”

The redhead has to fight off the urge to shove her face into her hands. She’d been plotted against! And by the very people who she called her friends, no less. By the gods, if they really wanted to give her a day off, perhaps they could have done so in a manner that wouldn’t almost kill her. 

“I’m afraid not, my prince.” She lets slip the formality without even realizing it, but in the brief moment she pats the basket at her side, she misses the disappointed expression that flickers across his face. “All he gave me was a picnic basket.” 

His brows furrow. “Why would I need to see a–…?” 

Cordelia turns her head to the side, unable to meet his eyes. If he still hasn’t realized that she loves him, that she has for years… Then she would rather keep it that way.

“I’ve no idea,” she replies weakly, but when he sits down in the grass– slowly, hesitantly– she finally looks over.

“Would you be willing to accept company anyways?” he asks her, and she stares at him a moment–

Then laughs softly to herself and nods, moving the basket to sit between them, and that’s when Chrom notices the flowers that Sumia had left in there. 

“Oh– you were in the middle of something before I interrupted you, weren’t you? I can, uh, eat and not hear anything. If you want, I mean.” 

Her fingers tug lightly on a flower petal, and she sighs. It would be odd to leave a half-plucked flower, wouldn’t it? And… it’s not like he would ever figure it out, anyways.

Something in her heart aches at the thought.

“Help yourself,” she smiles lightly, then plucks the petal off. “He loves me, he loves me not.” Her voice is softer now, almost inaudible. “He loves me, he loves me not.” She can see Chrom rifling through the treats inside from the corner of her vision. “He loves me, he loves me not.” The content look on his face as he bites into his sandwich is endearing in its own way, and though the pegasus knight bites back a chuckle, the sting from earlier refuses to fade.

“He loves me, he…” 

She pulls the last petal from the stem, and as she holds it betwixt her fingertips, that sting only worsens. Not even in dreams ruled over by flowers can her love be requited… Though it’s not like she expected much else. 

“…and I will always love him,” she murmurs, releasing the petal to the breeze. It’s not like he’d ever realize it, anyways. 

When she turns to finally pull her own food from the basket, Chrom’s gaze stops her; it is deep and worried and sad, but she musters up a fragile smile just for him. 

“I didn’t think that was how it went,” he says– or tries to say, at least, but his voice is dry and oddly quiet, and his words are lost in part to the air. 

She shakes her head.

“That’s how it always goes.”

He loves her not. 

The prince’s brows furrow at that, and his hands fall slowly to his lap, concern glittering in his eyes despite the fluster of his cheeks. 

“Have you…?”

 _Confessed_? Coming from him, the very notion of it burns her. 

“No.” The reply is short and harsh, especially for her– especially to _him_ – and his shocked, almost injured expression is enough to make her recompose herself. She sucks in a breath; she exhales. Her voice is gentler when she speaks again. “There’s no reason to.”

“But you look so…” He pauses there, his head tilting slightly as he looks at her, as if searching for the right word. 

She lowers her gaze to the ground.

“…Sad.” 

Cordelia draws her knees up to her chest. It feels too vulnerable, too uncomfortable, having the object of her affections urge her to confess (but the concern in his voice is what keeps her together). 

“Please, my prince,” she whispers, plucking a sandwich from the basket; she refuses to meet his eyes. “It’s better this way.” 

Silence stretches out between them. Though she can tell he’s looking at her, the redhead merely chews on her sandwich; when she’s done so long enough, Chrom returns to his own. 

“…I’m sorry,” he murmurs, half to himself. 

“Don’t be,” she whispers in reply. They had been getting closer, he had wanted to be there for her– he was kind and she _knew_ this– he’d just wanted her to be–

She glances surreptitiously at his wrist, and finds a sliver of silver still sparkles there. 

–to be happy.

To be free.

“Thank you.” Her words are nigh inaudible, but his chewing slows and she can tell he heard her nonetheless. 

“Always,” Chrom replies, and Cordelia thinks that is the best response he could have given her. 

They do not speak for the rest of their time there, and the silence between them only breaks when he tells her she should take the rest back to her tent. When she nods, he lets her leave ahead of him; she doesn’t hesitate to return alone.

Come nighttime, she chews on the remnants of a sandwich slowly. The flavor cheers her up (she hadn’t thought anyone knew her favorite kinds), but only mildly, and the air weighs heavy with all that she is avoiding.

 _She should go to the barracks_. _It_ ’ _s getting late_. _He_ ’ _s expecting her_. 

But she doesn’t get up. 

Hours later, when she is preparing for bed, she hears slow footsteps outside her tent. When they halt, she waits to hear her name called, but there is nothing– only silence. 

Then they leave the way they came, she peeks through her tent flap, and her chest tightens. 

Chrom had waited for her.

But she hadn’t come.


	14. Wing

She lies in her bed long after she spied Chrom walking away, staring up at the ceiling like it might divulge to her what it is she should do. It doesn’t, of course, and she’s not sure how much time has passed before she turns onto her side. 

_He had waited for her_. 

Her chest clenches painfully, and Cordelia heaves a deep sigh. Just months ago, she would have never thought it possible that Chrom would one day care enough about her to even think of her– and yet today, he had waited. Did it hurt less or more to know that he finally saw her? Was it a relief or a painful rekindling of hope once long dead? 

She rolls back onto her back, the familiar sight of the ceiling as unchanged as ever, and mulls over the thought of freedom. He would not purposefully shun her for her affections, of that she was sure, but awkwardness is a terrible thing, and the thought of breaking whatever fragile friendship they’d been cultivating frightens her deeply. She has finally learned to breathe easily in his company and simply enjoy the warmth of his presence– to lose that now would hurt far worse than any wounds of war she’d suffered before. 

But then she stumbles into thoughts of shared jokes in the midnight hours and stars that remind them of each other, and she sighs once more. If ever she confessed, he would not be like her– he would not let awkward feelings and nervousness erode away a friendship. No, he loved far too much and too greatly for that. 

So it falls to her to repay the kindness she knows he would give in a heartbeat. She knows, of course, that her sadness and self-pity builds a wall between them, and she knows that she can’t continue on like this– not when it hurts her, and not when it hurts him, too.

_He had wanted her to be free_. 

She falls asleep that night to the nervous beating of her heart and a hardened resolve.

• • •

In the morning, she tends to her pegasus and takes care to spoil her just a bit. It’s how Cordelia asks her for favors, and when she fishes sugar cubes out of her pockets and Aurora nibbles on them without complaint, she knows her request has been granted.

As if by a stroke of luck, Sumia stumbles into the stables just as Cordelia turns to leave, and the redhead rushes up to her friend. 

“Sumia!” She greets her friend with an urgent tone and takes hold of her arm. 

“Cordelia?!” The brunette squawks in response, wide eyed and confused.

“Will you cover my chores today? I–” She breathes in, then spits out the rest of her words in a single rushed breath. “I’m going to confess!” 

“Sure, I can– wait, what?” 

But Cordelia is already on her way out by the time Sumia has processed everything, and as the doors shut behind her, the redhead hears a muffled ‘good luck!’ behind her. 

Finding Chrom is a different matter altogether, made harder by the fact that he’s not at the training grounds (and if he’s not at the training grounds in the morning, where is he?). She stands at their edge for a long while, perplexed, when a voice sounds out behind her.

“May I help you?”

Cordelia nearly jumps out of her skin. “Frederick!” She gasps as she whirls around, and the ghost of an amused smile flickers across his face. “I– yes, actually.” At the sight of the redhead’s flushed cheeks, the knight cocks an inquisitive brow, leaning over when she tugs on his arm to whisper into his ear. 

“I’ve decided to… confess,” she murmurs, and Frederick pulls back to stare at her for a moment, startled by her sudden declaration. She doesn’t break eye contact, and after a moment has passed, a smile pries itself from his lips– small, yes, but warm and real– and he squeezes her shoulder supportively. 

“This way,” he replies quietly, then turns on his heel, Cordelia following close behind. It’s a bit surprising when he leads her to the prince’s tent, but when he adopts a formal stance, hands locked in the small of his back, the pegasus knight follows suit. 

“Milord, there is someone who wishes to speak with you.” 

It doesn’t take long for Chrom to appear at the tent flap, and as he pushes it open, he stops dead in his tracks, wordlessly staring at Cordelia for a few moments. The silence is somehow worse than any awkward greeting either of them could have managed, and her cheeks burn as she waves meekly.

“Corde–” But the prince’s hand falls as he moves to reach out, and the tent flap falls back, smacking him in the face; Frederick takes that chance to dismiss himself. 

“Well then,” he says, already taking a step back, “I’ll leave you to it.” 

He’s gone by the time Chrom has extracted himself from the fiendish tent entrance, and the prince glances exasperatedly towards his back before meeting Cordelia’s eyes once more. He doesn’t say anything, though he does open his mouth once, but shuts it again soon after.

“Chrom,” she finally whispers, and he blinks to show he’s listening. “I need to talk to you in private.” 

He nods without speaking, and she waves for him to follow her as she leads him to the stables. When she glances over her shoulder, she can tell he’s confused, but he stays quiet even as she leads Aurora from her stall and to the outside. 

“I thought we could have a talk in the sky,” she explains as she hops onto her steed’s back, then offers her hand to her prince– to her _friend_. 

“That sounds fine,” Chrom agrees, taking her hand and mounting the pegasus as well. It’s silent after that once more, and they take off into the sky. Aurora flies without being directed, and she flies slowly (and Cordelia is grateful for that, because the gods know she can hardly string her thoughts together right now).

“I’m sorry about last night.” The statement is sudden, breaking their silence with little grace, but Chrom doesn’t appear to mind; rather, he seems glad that she initiated the talk.

“It’s alright,” he replies quietly. Then, a bit more boldly: “Did I offend you yesterday?” 

She shakes her head. “No, nothing like that– it was just painful to hear. I have loved him for… a long time.” Her voice drops in volume as her chest constricts, and she can feel Chrom strain to lean in closer and hear. “If I had thought I could confess…” The silence speaks for itself.

A pause; she can hear that there are many questions Chrom wants to ask, but he settles for one: “How long?” 

She breathes in, her heart thudding painfully in her chest.

“Cordelia?”

“Since I met you.”

That shuts him up, but Cordelia doesn’t give him any time to let her words sink in. 

“You were the first person to let me rely on you, you know.” She sighs for a moment, but barrels on soon enough; she does not want to lose her courage while she still has it. “That meant the world to me back then. You… saved me. And I fell in love with you for it.” The pegasus knight pauses for a moment, mulling over her own words, then shakes her head. “…No, it wasn’t the only reason. You were kind and brave and just, and I loved the way you treated everyone as your equal, loved the way you laughed after sparring sessions…” She breathes out a shaky breath, but refuses to falter. “I loved you when you treated me no less kindly for being too frightened by my own lovestruck heart to speak properly to you; I loved you when you wanted to know me in spite of it all.” Her chest flutters, her voice growing softer, warmer, more brittle. “And I loved you still, when you lead me out to fields of fireflies, or when you fell asleep under starry skies, and especially when you saved me once again.” 

The prince is silent behind her, but she refuses to look back at him (he has always stolen her breath away, but right now, she needs it more than ever). 

“I love you, Chrom.”

No sooner did she get those words out of her mouth than a pair of arms wrapped themselves around her, warm and strong but gentle all the same. They are not acceptance or rejection or any statement in between– they are simply comfort and appreciation– and she shakily places her hands over his. 

They stay like that until Aurora lands; she does not ask for a reply. 

Chrom extends his hand to her once he is on the ground again, and though his face is flush, he does not look away from her; she smiles, and accepts his help dismounting. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, his voice coming out in a shy whisper as she slips out of the saddle. He does not release her hand, though, but instead squeezes it lightly. “I have business to attend to now, but…” The prince swallows nervously– a stark and strange contrast to the serene smile Cordelia offers him in response. “…I want to talk to you again. The, uh, barracks…?” 

“I’ll be there, Chrom.” She squeezes back, but that does not assuage his fears, and his eyes still glitter with an apprehension she understands all too easily (she had run away so many times in the past, and just when he had thought she’d learned to stand beside him, she had left him waiting all night long). 

But she is done running, now and forever, and she clasps her other hand over his. 

“I promise.”

There is something about the way she says it– gently, but with a quiet strength– that finally earns her the smile she fell in love with so long ago.

“Good,” Chrom replies, and his eyes warm up again, crinkling at the corners. “Because…”

He lets go and _breathes_ again–

“We have a lot to talk about.”

–and for the first time in a long time, Cordelia does, too.


End file.
